The Doll

The old house loomed in the moonlight, a skeletal silhouette against the starless sky. I should have turned back, but curiosity pulled me closer, my heartbeat echoing in the stillness. They said it was cursed—haunted by the spirit of a child who never left. As I stepped inside, the door creaked ominously, a warning I should have heeded. Shadows flickered on the walls, and for a moment, I could swear I heard a soft giggle—a child's laughter that sent chills down my spine. I walked deeper, my breath quickening as the atmosphere thickened. And then, in the corner of the living room, I saw it. A porcelain doll, its glassy eyes staring into the void like they were keeping secrets of their own.